A Case Of Sympathy
by Kibuka
Summary: AU: Inuyasha, Cigarettes, Cussing, Shippo, Sleuthing, Crime, Mystery, Demons, Humans, Mikos and Dark Humor. Probably some Sango and gratuitous violence later. Love me some gratuitously violent Sango.


-1Authors Note: Something I found on my laptop and decided to post. First chapter of what might be a multi-chapter AU story that looks like it was inspired by reading to many Raymond Chandler novels. But given my busy schedule and my track record I can't promise anything. Read and enjoy, or don't. It's your choice.

These last few weeks the dregs of society have been busy. Dockside a deal goes bad; an unknown third party makes off with some expensive merchandise. The cop's jobs are 21 scumbags easier and the gene pool is a little cleaner. Except the merchandise belongs to a big bad Yakuza crime boss by the name of Naraku--which complicates matters. I happen to be helping the cops investigate the bastard.

It doesn't end there though, things are just beginning. Two nights later someone unexpectedly shuts down an illegal casino operating in the city. More dead bad guys, more poetic justice. And that's where coincidence and intent diverge: Naraku is known to be the principle financier of that particular establishment. The following week a very expensive and insurance impaired warehouse goes up in flames. Same M.O., but it might be an accident, a coincidence. Unless you don't believe in coincidences.

Two blocks from my office and my head is swimming with more questions than answers, a definite recipe for a migraine. Though I'm not so caught up in my musings that I miss the presence trailing me.

Breathing's shaky, erratic...male and most definitely a child. My interest is peaked. The wind shifts favorably a moment later and I can smell his sweat. Fear, anxiety, and a spicy woodsy musk; I memorize the scent. The echoes of his little feet suggest a displacement back and to my left. He's hugging the walls and keeping to the shadows, were I anyone else he might have gone unnoticed.

Stopping abruptly below a streetlight--my shadow does as well I note--I pull out a pack of cigarettes and pound one out. The cancer stick fits comfortably between my lips as I bring my trusty lighter-- one of a pair monogrammed in English with the words 'dogs of war'--to bare and light up. I inhale and my mind calms from its earlier turmoil.

I discreetly cast my senses about for danger; the kid might be a ploy, a diversion to distract me while one of my enemies prepares something nasty for me. It wouldn't be the first time. I'm pleased to find that were alone, relatively anyway. There's hooker on the corner up a head and couple homeless gathered around a burning barrel in an ally across the street. I decide to let the kid know he's been noticed.

"You know kid; it ain't safe to be walking the streets at night."

My statement startles him, I hear his heart speed up and the smell of fear intensifies on him. The little runt actually thought he could follow me without being noticed. I turn around then and as I do he retreats back further into the shadows. Doesn't do him any good though my eyes pierce the darkness as easily as if the sun was shining and I get my first good look at the runt.

Runt being an accurate description. Kid barely comes up to my knee and by the look of things the kid can't be more than 6. Bushy auburn hair caked with filth, green eyes set in a pale drawn face equally as dirty as his hair, checkered shirt of the same color as his eyes and blue jeans. Both of which were dirty and torn in places and hung loosely from his frame like that of a scarecrow. The runt obviously hadn't seen a decent meal in a while. Did I mention the reek coming off him is appalling?

The real eye catcher though is the way the air shimmers around his form and then dissolves under my gaze--though it takes longer than usual to do so, the runt is protected by an impressive concealing spell--giving me a glimpse of the runts pointy ears and furry paw like feet. The kids a demon. But then I already knew that, the demonic aura the runt radiated and his scent was a dead give away. Though what I didn't know then that I do now is that he's a fox-demon.

As I continue my scrutiny my nose twitches, the fear coming of the runt just increased. Not surprising really, I'm an intimidating guy. 6 foot 2, silver hair, hard molten amber eyes, dog ears perched on my head--concealed by a _serious _heavy duty spell--long crimson trench coat, elongated nails, and a perpetual scowl. I've been known to make people wet themselves at the mere sight of me, something I'm quite proud of.

Taking another drag I study the runt under heavy lidded eyes. He looks to be marshaling the courage to say something. Being the nice guy that I am I give him a gentle verbal prod.

"If ya got something to say runt, spit it out.

See, gentle like.

He meets my gaze warily and his scent shifts slightly. The fears still there but now there's a hint of determination that's mirrored in his stance.

"Are you Inuyasha?" His voice wavers only slightly the childish cadence rising and then dropping.

I shrug my shoulders and take a long drag of my ciggie. "Maybe."

The kids nose scrunches up and his eyes narrow in irritation at my reply.

"Either you are or your not. Which is it?" The runts little hands ball into fists and he gives me what I assume he thinks is a pretty good glare. I nonchalantly close the gap between us and blow a few lazy smoke rings down at him to show how unimpressed I am. To the runt's credit he only coughs a half dozen times.

I decide I've fucked with the kid enough. "I'm Inuyasha. What's it to you runt."

The words that come out of the kids mouth next surprise me so much that all I can do is stare at him. "Come again."

His eyes spark determination as he replies. "I said, I want to hire you."

The runts not kidding, his heartbeat didn't waver and his scent didn't shift either. I close my eyes but when I open them the runts still there. So much for that idea. Absently flicking ash of to the side I give the kid one of my better glares.

"Look runt why don't you do us both a favor and run on home to mommy and daddy."

At my words his scent changes from fear to sadness and his eyes drop to the pavement as he replies.

"I can't go home."

I frown as I blow a stream of smoke from my nose. "What 'tcha do, run away from home because mommy and daddy wouldn't by ya a pony?"

My nose twitches again and this time I smell tears, tears and anger. The runts head snaps up suddenly and he levels a teary eyed glare at me.

"No you jerk! I can't go home because it's not there anymore. And neither are my parents. They're dead! They're both dead..." His voice gives out then as the tears he was fighting to keep from falling finally do. The brat's breath hitches and his body shakes and he can't quit keep the sobs from escaping.

Well, shit. I hadn't expected that. Now I feel like an ass, a real bonified grade-A-ass. And I didn't think that was possible anymore. I take a long drag from my cigarette, and then take another one for good measure. The one thing I can't stand, have never been able to stand, was crying women and children. And this kid was bawling his eyes out. So, in an effort to get him to stop with the water works I decided to try something I rarely do. Apologize.

"Look runt, I didn't know. Now, stop with the crying."

Well, I did say I'd try.

Much to my relief the runt pulls himself together rather quickly. Wiping away the last of his tears with a knuckled fist and hiccupping a few more times he turns his watering green eyes on me and I can't help but feel sorry for the kid despite myself. Of course I don't let the runt know that, it would be bad for my carefully cultivated bastardly image.

"How'd they die," I ask. Not that I care or anything.

"They were murdered." The runt's voice hitches halfway through the statement and he looks up at me as if by telling me this I'll be able to magically bring them back to life. Feh, wrong dog-demon.

The runts lip trembles and his breath hitches, and even before he opens his mouth I know what he's going to say.

"Please, I'll pay you anything. Just find out who killed my parents. Please."

I let out an uncharacteristic sigh and take another puff.

"Look kid, what's happened to you is real tragic I'm sure. But murder investigation's are the polices' job, it's what they get paid to do. So, why don't you just let them do their jobs. Some of them are half way competent, I'm sure they'll have everything rapped up in no time."

I give him my best stern look then. "In the mean time why don't you go back to whatever relatives you ran away from. They're probably worried or something."

Satisfied that I got my point across I'm in the process of stubbing my cigarette out under my boot heal when the runt yells at me. There's anguish, frustration, and no little amount of anger in his voice

"You don't get it! The police aren't doing anything. They've had three months and they haven't turned up a single clue. They say their working on it but I can smell the lies on them. There not even trying to find the killers!"

"And how exactly do you know that?" Now I am curious.

The runt's form trembles with rage and when he speaks his voice is filled with ice.

"I overheard the ones in charge of the case say so. Their going to rule it an accidental death, a freak lighting strike, and close the case."

I raise and eyebrow. "How do you know it wasn't?"

He meets my gaze again and in his eyes I see a pain eerily familiar.

"Because I was there. I saw everything!"

The kid nearly breaks down again but manages get a handle on his emotions at the last second. I'm impressed, it's not easy for a child his age to talk about the death of parents. I should know.

I frown in thought, I'm intrigued despite myself. "The detectives on the case know you were there?"

The runt sniffles a few times before he's able to respond. "Yes, I told them everything. But they won't listen."

"What about your next of kin?"

I'm genuinely curious, fox youkai are known for their close knit familial bonds. I couldn't imagine his kin sitting idly by while the police ignored the runt's testimony or for that matter letting him roam the streets like this. Which made me think that perhaps the runt didn't have any.

The runt's eyes go all watery on me again and the sniffles make a return. "Don't have any relatives; my parents were all I had. I was put in state custody after they died."

Some times I really hate being right.

His eyes turn pleadingly on me. "That's why I came to you. You're supposed to be the best, able to find anything or anyone. Your my only hope please, I'll pay you anything."

I scoff at him. "And how exactly are you going to do that runt, you don't exactly look like your loaded down with cash. I don't do pro-bono kid."

He seems taken aback by my statement as if it never occurred to him that he had no way of paying me. Perhaps it never did, revenge is funny that way. Then the kid does something that reaches past all the carefully constructed layers of bastardly indifference I've built up over the years: he gets down on his hands and knees, forehead against the ground and _begs_.

"Please, I'll do anything! I'll cook, do your laundry, I'll clean every inch of your house with my tongue! I'll be your slave for the next 50-no 100 years if that's what it takes. I'll sleep anywhere and I'll eat anything, just please find the men who murdered my parents. Please!"

I may have the blood of a demon flowing through my veins, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to feel. And right now the kids making me feel all sorts of things I could go without. I feel it happening then, the dried up and shriveled remains of my conscience, my 'humanity', stirring from the dark depths where centuries ago it went to die but for some reason never fully gave up the ghost. Damn inconsiderate if you ask me.

I feel the migraine coming back with vengeance and my fingers itch for the medicine stick that will make it go away. I settle for rubbing the bridge of my nose in a futile effort to make it all go away.

I really don't need this complication in my life. I'm already involved in an investigation, an investigation with no doubt about its criminal nature—not that I don't believe the runt or anything—and guaranteed monetary compensation. I don't owe this kid a thing...and yet looking at the runt I can't help seeing a reflection of myself so very long ago. Alone, helpless, consumed with grief and an anger that can only be quelled with justice and retribution.

Fucking compassion.

I'm almost as surprised as the runt with the words that leave my mouth next.

"You hungry?"


End file.
